


not your typical fairytale

by unheard_secret



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unheard_secret/pseuds/unheard_secret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Mr Gold discuss Beauty and the Beast. </p><p>A conversation that took place before magic returned to Storybrooke; before Emma discovered that Henry's stories were real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not your typical fairytale

Emma paused as she turned to leave the store, noticing for the first time a bookshelf tucked behind the assorted paraphernalia that filled Gold's shop. There it was, a low bookshelf, filled to overflowing. It was tucked into the corner, near a glass display cabinet, and half obscured by a large wooden desk that was carrying an intricate and somewhat whimsical scale model of a windmill.

Emma was not a bibliophile. In her adolescence she had discovered and nurtured a purely practical relationship with the written word. But, she had recently acquired a more than casual interest in fairy-tales. An interest that it appeared Gold shared. 

Her brow furrowed as she peered at the books on the squat shelf. She squinted as she struggled to read the titles on the book's spines, finding them difficult to make out in the dim light of the shop. 

She glanced at Mr Gold, wanting to ask about the books, only to find him gazing at her warily. He eased around the counter as she watched, coming to stand beside her. His bearing was almost protective, as though he wanted to warn her away from the contents of the shelf. 

Emma frowned at him, her expression turning wary. 

He glanced at her, and then looked away, and Emma was surprised to notice that there was a chink in his usually implacable mask. The untouchable distance and superiority that had so frequently tempted her toward radical thoughts of physical violence had slipped a little sideways. Mr. Gold's lips were still pressed together in a non-committal and insincere smile, and his stance was still deceptively unguarded, and in every respect he looked almost exactly as he always did, but there was a desperate hollow sadness in his eyes that couldn't be hidden.

Emma looked away, returning her gaze to the bookshelf and its eclectic selection of books. Her eyes traced past the gaily coloured spines of children’s anthologies and move inexorably toward the slowly collapsing bindings of ancient first editions containing rare translations and less readily known myths. There was nothing on the shelf to explain the expression in Gold's eyes or his sudden possessiveness. Emma rocked back on her heels uneasily. She felt a vague, queasy sensation settle in her lower abdomen. Henry's theory about a curse and an evil queen still seemed ludicrous, but even Emma couldn't deny there were things that didn't add up in Storybrooke. The expression on Gold' face as he looked at a shelf of fairy-tales was simply going to become another one of them. 

'Do you have a particular interest in fairy-tales, Miss Swan?' 

Mr. Gold's voice was soft, but his lilting question conveyed all the danger of a hidden landmine. 

No matter how she responded, Emma couldn't tell that it would incriminate her in one way or another. The logical part of her mind clamoured that this shouldn't be the case. What was so dangerous in admitting a fascination with children's stories? Why did she feel as though, no matter how she answered, Gold would be able to find something useful in her response? The man acquired knowledge like it was a weapon and Emma had the uncomfortable notion that her reply, no matter what it actually was, would be stored by Mr. Gold to be hoarded with all the other knives he had hidden at her back.

Emma glanced at Gold and was unsurprised to see the shutters firmly pulled back across his eyes. Whatever emotion had been momentarily displayed was gone. 

'Not personally, no.' Emma decided abruptly that, if Mr. Gold was going to hold her words like weapons against her, then at least the knife's edge would be sharp with honesty. 'Henry talks about little else.'

'Ah, yes.' Gold spoke slowly, a small, unfathomable smile taking up residence at the corner of his mouth. 'Henry. The boy has quite the imagination.'

Emma frowned at Gold warily. The man had the insufferable ability to make and innocuous comment sound like a threat with nothing more than the rise and fall of his voice. He played games within games, weaving threads of intrigue about him as deftly as a spider spun its web. 

Emma knew relatively little about the myths and legends that seemed to form a surprisingly important hobby for Gold, but she knew enough to be familiar with the tale of the Gordian knot. Mr Gold brought out the fighter in her, she reflected wryly. He diligently spun in a delicate, tangled pattern, and her first impulse was to cut through his secrecy and his barrier of words, striking at the heart of the matter, abandoning subtlety in favour of force. 

'He does,' she agreed. Henry's imagination was indisputable. She wondered what Gold would make of that. 

She rocked forward, and took a step toward the door. 'Well,' she said, with less certainty than intended, 'if you're not selling, then it doesn't matter. I'll get back to you.'

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow. Emma cursed his ability to make her feel ignorant and childish with nothing more than a glance. It left her feeling off-balance. She hadn't been childish even as a child. 

'What makes you think I'm not selling, Miss Swan?'

Emma's lips parted before she had an answer. It's just... obvious, she thought. She closed her mouth without comment It was obvious Gold didn't want to part with the books -- the uncharacteristic sorrow and desperate longing in his eyes had said as much -- she didn't didn't know why he was pretending otherwise. 

'Are you selling?'

Mr. Gold gave her a considering look. 'Perhaps.'

Emma paused, not sure what came next. She had been momentarily caught by the bookshelf and its contents, and if it hadn't been for Mr. Gold's reaction, her brief moment of interest would probably have passed. Indecisive, she hesitated just long enough that Mr. Gold stepped in to fill the silence. 

'If you are looking for something for young Henry,' he said, 'I would suggest restricting your curiosity to the first shelf.' He pointed with the tip of his cane at the large shelf, overflowing with children's books. 

Emma, unable to stand back for long squeezed around the large desk, carefully trying to avoid knocking the windmill's large arms. The windmill creaked as she passed, but the shop was otherwise silent. Emma crouched in front of the shelf and looked back at Mr. Gold, only to find him watching her with a speculative expression. 

'What are these?' Emma gestured at the old and ragged novels on the second shelf. 

Mr. Gold pressed his lips together in a thin line, and a long moment passed before he responded. His expression stilled, and for a moment wondered if it would break again, if the chink in his armour would be exposed for a second time. The silent, shuttered, expression in his eyes didn't waver, however, and Emma realised that Mr. Gold's defences -- whatever they were -- had been in place too long to ever be truly breached.

'Not all fairy-tales have happy endings, Miss Swan,' Gold said by way of a reply, leaning both hands on his cane. 'Change one fact, change two, and you have an entirely different story. The contents of that shelf stand as a vivid reminder of the fact that fairy tales weren't written for children.'

Emma frowned, not sure what Gold was trying to say. 'So these are the violent and miserable fairy-tales?' she asked. 'Like the Brother's Grimm version where Cinderella's step sister cuts off her toes to fit her foot into the glass slipper?'

Mr. Gold stepped forward, placing one hand on the desk, his long fingers splaying against the base of the windmill. 'Somewhat like that, yes,' he agreed. He paused. 'Toes, however, are the least of it. Tell me, Miss Swan, do you know anything of fairy-tales as they were originally told. As they were when they were first spoken about the fires of families hundreds of years ago, far from here, in a world very different from our own.'

Emma frowned, but didn't say anything.

Mr. Gold took this as permission to continue. 'They were not pretty, my dear. They reflected certain... harsh realities. The world was not kind to peasants during the Dark Ages.' He gave a thin, humourless smile. 'And peasants, well, they told tales that reflected the world they lived in. Books such as those, Miss Swan,' he indicated the book Emma had reached for, 'are not populated with fairy godmother's, unambiguous hero's and True Love's kiss.'

He paused and let out a slow breath. The corner of his mouth twitched, but Emma couldn't tell if it was the beginnings of a smile or a frown. 'Those books,' he continued, 'contain tales that are unapologetic and unvarnished in their truths. Red Riding Hood dies at the hands of the wolf -- her naivete punished by the capricious cruelty of the world -- with no hunter in sight to save her. Sleeping Beauty is ravaged, not awakened, by her prince, and bears him several children in her sleep.' Gold gave a thin humourless smile. 'Children play at murdering one another, and cannibalism holds an appeal that only the chronically starved could ever understand.'

Emma pulled her questing hand away from the shelf and wiped it uneasily on her jeans.

'Let me guess,' she said, glancing from the shelf to Gold, 'Beauty gets eaten by the Beast.'

Gold's hand twitches on his cane, closing convulsively around the handle. He sent Emma a sharp inscrutable look. There was a strange, misplaced agony in his eyes.

'Surprisingly, Miss Swan,' said Gold, standing a little straighter, pulling his mask back into place as he spoke, 'the Beast never did eat Beauty. No matter how vicious his huger became.'

Emma raised an eyebrow. That was not the answer she had expected. Brushing the dust of her hands she rose from her crouch and turned to face Gold. She leaned back against the bookshelf, crossed her arms, and said questioningly, 'Oh?'

Mr. Gold looked down at his cane, avoiding her gaze, and Emma was certain for a moment that he wasn't going to acknowledge her question. An why would he? Gold was not well known in Storybrooke because of his naturally gregarious nature. A small part of Emma was surprised that he had tolerated her presence in his shop for as long as he had. She more than half expected to be dismissed, and told to find her own way out. However, in a manner that was becoming frustratingly familiar, Gold entirely failed to meet her expectations. 

'In the earliest renditions,' said Gold, his expression distant, and his words clipped and clear -- as though he was giving a lecture and not engaging in a conversation -- 'the damsel saves herself.' He paused a moment, took a breath, and then continued. 'In one she delays her own death long enough to wait for help, while in another, she tricks the Beast into freeing not only her, but her seven sisters as well.' He paused looking down at the handle of his cane contemplatively. 'Those are the earliest examples of the story. Cunning and ingenuous, Beauty defeated the Beast again and again. It is one of the few tales that was more bearable in it's original form.'

'What happened to it?' Emma couldn't stop herself from asking. 

'Beauty changed with the times. Fairy-tales stopped being the preserve of the peasants, and became the play toys of the elites. Beauty's tale, like so many other, came to reflect a new reality. Her fate came to be reminiscent of that of that suffered by all young girls at the time.'

Emma gave Gold a questioning look. 

He sighed and looked up his eyes serious. 'The wise and clever Beauty disappeared to be replaced with weak and passive girl-child.' Gold paused, letting a moment of almost mournful silence creep into the room. Then he continued, his voice containing a hint of hidden anger. 'Beauty was not rewarded by her new station in life. Instead of gaining her Happily Ever After, she was made into an example.'

Emma frowned. Her lips parted as she tried to figure out what to say, but she closed them again when she realised she had nothing.

Gold looked away, and Emma felt tension leech from her shoulders. His gaze burned, and his brow furrowed. But it wasn't so bad now he was looking at the door, and not at her. He shifted his hand on his cane, and slowly his face shifted back into its mask of forced neutrality. The mask couldn't hide the fire burning in his eyes.

'What happened to her?' Emma asked, wincing as soon as the words were out of her mouth. 

Gold glanced at her, and said in a heavy distant voice, 'She was the victim of a sacrifice to morality.' He paused for a short moment, before taking a breath and continuing. 'In the new tale,' he murmured, 'she was condemned to fall in love with the Beast.'

Emma felt a shiver roll down her spine. She shifted uneasily. 'That's not so bad,' she said. 'True Love's power conquers all in these tales.'

'If you believe such a thing, Miss Swan, you are not the woman I think you are,' said Gold. He looked at her before glancing away. 'The tale was not about the conquering power of love. It was about a woman's lack of worth. Be loyal to your husband -- so the moral went -- be silent, submissive and obedient, and you might find that beneath his strange and Beastly exterior, there lurks a man with whom you can fall in love. Apt advice in a day and age when arrange marriages were common and a girl was never entirely sure what she would end up with in her husband.' Gold gave a thin smile with no humour. 

Emma frowned. 'Couldn't it equally be seen as a tale telling young women to love someone for who they truly were, and not what they appeared to be?'

Gold's eyes narrowed, but he didn't flinch away, and his mask stayed firmly in place. 'Much as I would like to believe you Miss Swan, I'm afraid the other interpretation is far more widely accepted.' He pointed with his cane toward the end of the bookshelf. 'I suggest you read Tatar. She has rather a lot to say on the subject.'

Emma rolled her eyes. She'd never had much respect for academics. They were too disconnected. Exactly the sort of person you would expect to read too much into a simple fairy tale. 'I'm sure she does,' said Emma, pushing off the bookshelf decisively. 'Unfortunately I'm a little to busy engaging with the real world to find the time to read it.'

Gold gave her a narrow smile. 'Of course, Miss Swan,' he said with sudden dangerous courtesy. 'I've been holding you up. The real world awaits. You've nothing to gain from listening to a distracted old man talking about fairy tales.'

Emma gave Gold an unimpressed look. She slid awkwardly out from around the windmill encumbered desk, giving one of the windmills creaking vanes a reassuring pat as she passed. 

Gold retreated quickly, returning rapidly behind his desk.

'I'll bid you a good day, Miss Swan,' he said as she reached the shops front door.

Emma turned to him and gave him a wave goodbye that was half ironic salute and half genuine dismissal. 

His lips gave a small quirk at the gesture, but no pleasure reached his eyes. 

Emma paused, hand returning to her hip, and let the look decide for her. On a whim, and without really understanding why she found herself saying, 'Nice as Tortures theory of feminine virtue was, I've always thought the story was more interesting when viewed as the tale of the Beasts redemption. It let's kids know that people can change, and that it's never to late to repent for bad choices.' She paused before adding, 'I've always found Belle a little bit boring myself.' 

She smiled a tight, but genuine smile and turned to leave the shop, not giving Gold a chance to respond.

The door closed slowly behind her. The bell above its frame giving a loud peal. But the sound was not so loud that she missed Mr Gold's mutter of 'Belle? Boring? She was the bravest woman I...' as she stepped out onto the street.

**Author's Note:**

> All of the fairy tales Mr Gold discusses in this work are real. Especially the ones about Red Riding Hood and Sleeping Beauty. 
> 
> No really. Look them up. According to the old fairy tales Sleeping Beauty only woke up because of the cries of the children she'd birthed in her sleep. Not kidding.


End file.
